


Ask me again

by YouKnowMeAsJ



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouKnowMeAsJ/pseuds/YouKnowMeAsJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Another] sequel to Fire_Sign's "500 Words: 60. Caustic". I suggest reading that first, otherwise I'm not sure this makes any sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask me again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Written with permission, of course.
> 
> I'm brand new to this site, and this is my first time ever sharing anything I have written (ever), so bear with me (and also write me a note and let me know what you think, please!).

It takes eleven days.  
  
On the first day, he is clearly in shock. He goes about his business quite happily, in a tranquil state of mind, as if nothing were the matter. Every so often, he remembers, and the memory hits him with a dull thud, leaving him hollow inside. Then he forgets again, only to repeat the process in a little while.  
  
On the second day, he remembers. Even though he goes about his day, his mind is staring out the window, until it is time to go to the empty house that is now his only home.  
  
By the fifth day, he has stopped speaking. His constable isn't sure what is the matter, and prefers to keep his distance. The Inspector is shrouded in a sadness that seems almost dangerous. Best not to meddle.  
  
On the eighth day, he starts to replay their last conversation ( _could that be called a conversation?_ ) in his head. He concedes ( _only to himself, never to her_ ) that perhaps he broached the subject with less than ideal tact. Perhaps he let himself get carried away by the moment ( _he had been so scared for her, though! She almost died! And so did he. Isn't he allowed a small slip, attributable to shock? Apparently not_ ). He refuses to apologize for wanting to be a part of her family ( _he already is a part of her family, though..._ ). He refuses to apologize for wanting more of her ( _doesn't she know by now that she is in no danger with him? Can't she tell that he would rather die himself than take any part of her that she isn't willing to give? She isn't willing to give him this, though... And he still wants it_ ). He can't apologize, because he would be apologising for being himself. He would be apologising for the love he feels for her ( _the greatest he has ever felt for anyone_ ). He knows that is he is ruined forever. He expected this, from the start. ( _He isn't sorry_ ).  
  
This train of thought always goes on until he is thoroughly exhausted. It doesn't mean he sleeps, though. During this time, he barely ever sleeps. When he does, he dreams of her. She is leaving him, laughing at his pain, at his ridiculous notions of love and fidelity, every time.  
  
And so, it comes to eleven days.  
  
On the eleventh day, Jack is blessedly starting to feel a tiny little bit like his old self again. Literally, his old self ( _the self that existed in his little house, and stayed too long at the station, because he didn't want to go back. The self that had forgotten that life could be fun. Will he ever be able to fully forget again?_ ). When he finally can't put it off any longer, when exhaustion threatens to take him right there on his desk, he stacks his papers neatly, and heads for his car.  
  
Nothing seems out of the ordinary when he walks into his dark little house ( _he can almost smell her perfume. Of all the times to remember her perfume, dammit! It's alright. He wasn't going to sleep anyway_ ). He follows the olfactory hallucination, all the way into his bedroom.  
  
She is sitting in the middle of his bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a queen on her throne ( _is it her? Is he having visual hallucinations too?_ ). She is wearing his pajamas ( _why? Why is she wearing his pajamas? It makes no sense. He must be hallucinating_ ), the enormous top covering her knees.  
  
He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to choose his words carefully so as not to betray the ridiculous, blinding happiness ( _and hope and relief_ ) he feels upon seeing her. He knows he is tired ( _so tired of missing her!_ ), and probably not thinking straight. He is afraid he will scare her away ( _away from what? What is she even doing here in the first place?_ ).  
  
So he says nothing, merely sits and swings his legs up, so he is lying on his side of the bed, with his hands folded neatly over his stomach, as if finding her sitting cross-legged in his room ( _in his damned pajamas_ ) were a most regular, everyday occurrence. As if she weren't even there ( _she is there, though. She is there, so close that he could touch her without even stretching his arm completely_ ).  
  
She speaks first, without turning to look at him: "Ask me again".  
  
He doesn't want to answer ( _what if he says the wrong thing? Good God man, what is the_ right _thing, at this point?_ ). So he takes a minute. "No."  
  
She takes a minute too. "Ask me again, Jack". ( _She sounds almost patient_ ).  
  
Two minutes. "No". Two more minutes. "Why?”  
  
She turns to face him, still in the same position, but sitting in the opposite direction. "Because I didn't answer correctly the first time"  
  
"Why are you wearing my pajamas?" ( _change the subject, Jack. Maybe that will keep her here a little longer. Although she doesn't seem to be leaving. And you don't know what is going on, at all_ ).  
  
( _Is she blushing?_ ). "They smell like you. It feels like you're holding me". ( _Why does that confession make him angry? It's adorable, for Pete's sake_ ).  
  
He stands abruptly, and moves away from the bed. "Holding you, Phryne? I thought you needed to be free".  
  
She doesn't turn to face him again. "I need you more than I need freedom". It is the tiniest of tiny voices, but he hears her, loud and clear.  
  
( _Did she really say that? Why is he still angry if she really said that?_ ). "What if I smother you, Phryne? What if I start to think I own you? That's what marriage is, Phryne! What if I expect you to keep my meals and slippers warm until I come home at night?"  
  
"You won't"  
  
"What if I don't want to marry you anymore?" ( _What are you saying, you idiot?_ )  
  
"You do". She turns with this. He expects her to look triumphant. He expects her to know she's won ( _was there ever really any sort of contest?_ ). But she doesn't. She looks frightened. And he can hear the tiny question mark at the end of her sentence. "You do" she says again, more firmly this time "and I want you to".  
  
"You want me to marry you?"  
  
"No, I want you to want to marry me. And then, yes, to actually marry me. Maybe. Probably, even"  
  
He needs to sit down for this. He does so, on the very edge of the bed, as far from her as the piece of furniture will allow. "Phryne..."  
  
She interrupts him ( _thank God! He had no idea what he was going to say after her name_ ). Her words come out in a rush, almost as if there were no spaces in between. "I love you, Jack, and that scares me. And marrying you scares me even more. But wanting to marry you scares me the most. What if I lose myself, Jack? What if I become that small, frightened person again, the person I was with René? What if I become my mother? What if you take something from me that I can't ever get back? What if after all that, I'm still not a good enough wife, and on top of losing myself, I lose you too?" ( _Is she crying? Oh please don't let her be crying. He can't take it if she's crying_ ).  
  
"I'm very sorry you're so afraid, Phryne. But your fear cannot manifest itself through pushing me away. You hurt me intentionally that night. I cannot allow that. Not even from you". ( _What are you doing? What are you saying? She's crying, man. CRYING!!_ ). He stands and walks to the window. "I thought we were partners. Equal partners, through everything. And I thought that meant I got a say too. I know you don't want a traditional married life. And you get to say that, and I have to listen. But I want to be married. I should get to say that too". He turns to look at her. "I can be in a relationship where I'm not married. I cannot be in a relationship where I have no voice". ( _Well, now you've done it. Excellent work, Inspector_ ).  
  
"You're right". ( _Oh look, it's auditory hallucinations too_ ).  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You. Are right". She pauses as if allowing her words to sink in ( _they don't. Phryne's apologies are like mermaids: he has heard of them, but doubts they're real_ ). You deserve better than what I did that night. And so I want you to ask me again, because I didn't answer correctly the first time. But the correct answer isn't 'yes'. Not for me, anyway. Not yet. The correct answer is 'I can't accept, because I want to, and that frightens me. And I need your help feeling alright about that. And don't look at me like that, you knew I was like this the first time you kissed me'. That is the correct answer".  
  
He smiles for the first time in eleven days. "The correct answer involves the look on my face?"  
  
She hides her nerves by being serious. "Yes. I know you well enough to know what your face is going to look like" ( _God help him, she is impossible_ ).  
  
He paces the floor, exasperated. "But you don't, Phryne. Don't you see, that's the whole point? You are afraid of what you think I want, instead of letting me show you what I actually want. I know you're afraid of commitment. I know you're afraid of losing yourself. And I am first on board to keep you exactly the way you are, for as long as we have on this earth. I don't want to change you. I don't...".  
  
"No Jack, it's you who doesn't see the point". She interrupts, again, very calm. "You already have changed me. The fact that I'm even considering marriage, the fact that I've been willingly faithful to you for a year, the fact that I don't want anybody else, ever". She gets up off the bed, and comes to stand in front of him. "You've changed me, Jack Robinson, whether you wanted to or not".  
  
It's probably the way she says his name. It could also be how she looks in his pajamas ( _pajama top. As she stands for the first time, he realizes she isn't wearing the bottoms_ ). It could be her strange ( _and wonderful_ ) little declaration. It could be that he really hadn't understood, until now. It could be many things, but he doesn't stop to consider them. He simply does what he's wanted to do since he walked in the room and saw her sitting there, what he's wanted to do since the first of those wretched eleven days, what he's wanted to do every day since he met her, and possibly since the day he was born, though he had no way of knowing it then: he grabs her by the waist with one arm, and kisses her so thoroughly she thinks she may never need to be kissed again, and wants to be kissed again immediately, at the same time.  
  
When he breaks for air, they are both panting. His hand has found its way into her ( _his_ ) shirt, and while it seems he is fingering the edge of the fabric with his fingertips, he is really caressing the top of her breast with the backs of his fingers, as his forehead rests on hers.  
  
"Don't give up on me Jack" she pleads, with her eyes closed, when she finds her words. "Ask me again".  
  
"No, Phryne". He shakes his head, still leaning on hers. "I can't risk it. ". She opens her eyes, and they're filled with tears. She isn't breathing. He cups her face, smoothes her cheeks with his thumbs, and continues. "But as soon as you're ready, please don't hesitate to ask me".


End file.
